The Light
by endlesscountdown
Summary: The Light was terrible. People believed it made them find their true love, their soulmate. Sherlock Holmes would never shine, not for anyone. This was his vow to himself and he would never break it.
1. Chapter 1

He hated the Light.

He saw two people meet, talking and laughing with each other, and after a few months their chests glowed with happiness and content. The lights coming from their chests slowly reaching out to touch the others and then shone brightly as they kissed.

He despised it.

Sherlock saw it happen far too many times for his liking. The couples were all so giddy and giggly, it was terrible. At school it had been awful. There had been gossip about who had signs of the Light and who had never glowed.

People described it as a burning heat inside their chests, so hot they couldn't breathe, but they also said it was comforting. How could it be comforting, knowing this person was your destiny that you would end up with them for the rest of your life?

No, he would never glow, the Light would never shine for him, he was sure. He would leave it that way, he didn't need anyone. Why should he let himself be attached to someone? Ridiculous. He would never shine.

* * *

"Catherine-"

"No, John, I've had enough! You've already cancelled this date twice; I even came to your flat, for God's sake! And still you did it!"

"Please, just listen-"

"Goodbye John, I hope you have fun with your _boyfriend_."

John heard the door slam shut and sat down. There went another potential girlfriend. At this rate he would never find anyone and it was all Sherlock's fault.

The doctor whipped his head around and looked at Sherlock standing near the kitchen looking awfully smug. He would take care of this.

"Why, Sherlock? You knew I had a date!"

The detective shrugged and went to the sofa. He spread himself over the entire length of the piece of furniture and finally glanced at John.

"We had a case and she was boring."

John laughed without any drop of humour. This was just typical.

"_You_ had a case, I had a date which would have gone well-,"

Sherlock grimaced.

"Don't start, it would have gone perfectly fine, but of course you had to call and ruin it!" Why was his flatmate so keen on sabotaging his dates? He hadn't had sex in weeks, dammit! A man has needs.

Sherlock sat up and raised an eyebrow.

"But isn't it interesting that you didn't deny her to be boring?"

John was stunned and wanted to disclaim his friend's argument, but quickly shut his mouth. It was kind of true. Ok, maybe he was kind of hoping he would have sex with her and _maybe_ he was going to leave her then. Maybe. Alright, probably.

He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. Why was Sherlock always right?

"Fine, you have a point, but that doesn't matter. It was still a bloody date and you ruined it. Again."

The genius smirked and put his hands together. Twat.

"I didn't call you, I sent you a text. You had the choice to come follow me and solve an exciting case or stay with your boring lady friend and have unsatisfying sex with her. It wasn't my fault, it was entirely yours. You made a decision," he leaned back after he had made yet another point.

He would wipe the grin off his face.

But yet again he was right and this annoyed John to no end.

"Why is everything always my fault?!"

"Maybe you should stop trying to look for a girlfriend. I really don't see the point in them. They do what, feed you and have sex with you? Two things you can do by yourself," Sherlock reasoned.

"You don't understand," John told him and stood up. Tea would make everything better.

"And maybe I don't want to understand."

The blond put the kettle on and grabbed a cup. He turned his attention towards Sherlock again and raised his eyebrows.

"So, you never felt…attracted to anyone? Never felt a spark? Saw a faint light coming from your chest?"

Sherlock snorted and looked offended.

"Don't be ridiculous, everyone is an idiot. I saw all these poor souls full with hormones glowing like fireflies in the dark. That hardly meant anything at all."

The kettle whistled and John finished his cuppa. He went back to the living room and took place in his armchair.

"Still, when there is a light in your chest it's…amazing. You feel warm all over and…I can't describe it. Of course the light is only strong when you really love someone. I hope I'll experience that some day."

"Don't be all sentimental, John. It doesn't suit you. You should be happy you don't depend on anyone. You're free."

"Not everyone wants to feel that way," John explained and took a sip from his tea.

"Then they are idiots."

"So I'm an idiot?"

Sherlock frowned and stared at John.

"No, you're not."

John was so surprised by his answer he nearly spilled his precious tea.

"Wow, was that a compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm. He regretted his reply as he saw Sherlock quickly look away and stand up.

"Well John, maybe you are an idiot after all," he murmured and went to his room.

The doctor was left alone in the living room and finished his cuppa quietly, wondering what Sherlock could've possibly meant.

* * *

"What are you doing?" John yawned as he walked down the stairs. The consulting detective was dressed in his blue dressing gown and was pacing around the flat, searching for something.

"If you are looking for the cigarettes, I took care of them long ago, so don't even try to find them."

Sherlock faced the older man and huffed.

"To your surprise I'm not even searching for them. Did you see the glass of jam I put on the table yesterday? I was sure I left it-, John, don't tell me you…"

John looked at him wide-eyed and glanced at the dirty plate next to the tab. Oh God no.

"Why did you even put it there?! And yes, Sherlock, I ate the rest of it. How was I supposed to know it was another one of your experiments? You didn't mark it!"

"Yes I did. I wrote it on the bottom of the glass."

"Why? Did you really think I would check the bottom? Who in their right mind would-, you know what? Forget it, just tell me I won't die."

The dark haired man blinked at him confused and annoyed.

"You would've already died by now if it was poisonous. It was harmless, I was in the beginning phase. A shame I can't finish it now," the detective looked crushed and sat down.

Yes, what a shame. John can't remember the exact number of near death experiences he had had at 221B, but they were definitely nearing fifteen. Maybe even more. Those damn experiments.

The blond rubbed his eyes and thought about his life choices. Well, if he ever had kids he sure would have a lot of stories to tell. The emphasis on if. He was losing hope.

"I'm bored," he heard Sherlock whisper. The detective was reaching for his violin just as his phone beeped. He looked at the message and John quickly looked over his shoulder. So what, he was curious.

**From: Mycroft Holmes**

**Why are you ignoring my texts?**

Sherlock glanced at John and glared.

"Privacy? Ever heard of it?"

"Funny that you say that, I always ask you the same thing," John replied and looked innocently at the sky. Beautiful weather. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his flatmate type a response. That was new.

"Yes, John, I'm replying, could you please stop watching over me like a concerned mother?" Sherlock stood up and walked towards his room, his dressing gown flying behind him.

"What are you doing?" John called.

"Should I explain to you the process of changing clothes? I'm going to purchase something at the supermarket."

"What? You? Who are you and what did you do to my friend?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and came out of his bedroom again, dressed in his black trousers and blue button-down shirt.

"Are you going to buy milk?" John asked full of hope.

"Most likely," he answered and proceeded to put on his coat. Wasn't it a little warm for that? Had John ever seen him dressed in anything else? Did he even own a jacket? He would need to find out.

While he was thinking, Sherlock ran down the stairs in his usual hurry. Hm, Sherlock was going to do the shopping. That was a bit peculiar. Now that he thought about it more, he saw the detective's wallet lying next to the skull.

Lying bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Following Sherlock proved to be very difficult. John had trouble keeping up with him and did his best not to be noticed. The detective went paths John didn't know and he nearly lost him a couple of times, but finally they arrived at an old warehouse. What a cliché.

Sherlock opened the rusty old door and went inside. John kept a large distance, only following until he was one hundred percent sure his friend wouldn't notice.

The warehouse had seen better times, but what had he expected? The doctor hid behind a wall, glancing at Sherlock who appeared to be waiting, but for whom? What was he even doing here?

John heard another door opening and saw a man walk towards Sherlock. He wasn't very tall, brown hair, normal built, nothing special about him. That was until John saw him carrying a small black bag and he took in a sharp breath. What was going on?

"Well, here's the stuff. Ain't easy to find these days, you owe me," the man handed Sherlock the bag. John couldn't see from his position very well, but the detective seemed to be handing him something. Money? What the fuck was going on?

"There. How long will it last?" Sherlock's voice resonated inside the hall.

"I'd give it two or three months. Not sure though, well, you'll notice," the other person said and shrugged. John quickly hid entirely behind the wall, for a second he thought the man had seen him. He didn't dare to breath.

"I must say, I was a bit surprised that you still wanted it. Nothing changed, huh?"

"Shut up. I gave you the money, I don't need any comments."

"Just sayin'. I'll be off then."

John heard footsteps and a door opening and shutting. The other man had left. The doctor dared to look again. Sherlock was still standing there. What had just happened? What the hell? Did Sherlock buy…drugs? John shook his head. He couldn't…or could he? Why would he?

He quickly changed his position as Sherlock walked towards his direction and left the warehouse. This was so fucked up. John clenched his fists. He was angry, more than angry. He was furious. Why would he take drugs again? And what had that man said? Still wanted it? How long had he been buying this stuff from him?

John tried to calm himself. Sherlock would probably return to 221B now. He took out his phone.

**I went out to meet up with some mates. Don't blow up anything.**

That seemed like a good message. Nothing weird or suspicious.

The door squeaked as he went outside. He was angry, but also at himself. Why hadn't he noticed? He was a doctor for God's sake. John sighed and went down the street. Fuck.

The sky was blue. John would've preferred rain; he was so not in the mood for sunshine. What kind of drugs? Cocaine? God, Sherlock had relapsed. He was supposed to look out for him, a silent agreement between him and Lestrade, or even Mycroft. And he had failed.

He soon found himself near St. Bart's. Sherlock hadn't appeared to be any different. Still an arrogant arsehole. No blown pupils or other symptoms.

People walked past him as he stared at the building. A couple caught his attention. They were laughing at some joke, a light slowly beginning to shine from their chests.

John could still remember the first time it had happened to him, but time went by and he still looked for that one person. He wasn't sure if he would find her anymore.

"John?" he saw Molly coming towards him, a slight smile on her face. He didn't want to talk to anyone now, but he couldn't just leave.

"Hi Molly," the doctor greeted her and forced a smile on his face. She looked a bit confused; she must've noticed something was wrong. And something was. Very much so.

"Everything alright, John? Where's Sherlock, did something happen?" Of course she would ask about Sherlock. Oh how he hoped she would get over him. She deserved someone who loved her as much as she did.

"No, it's fine. He's just being his usual self. A complete dick," she laughed and looked at her watch.

"Well, I have to go now, got a date," Molly blushed slightly.

"That's great! I hope everything goes well," John said genuinely.

"Yes, I don't really have luck with men," she pushed a strain behind her ear and waved him goodbye. John looked after her and thought about Moriarty. God, she was very unlucky. Kind of like he was, but it wasn't entirely his fault.

He sighed anew and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The blond hoped Sherlock didn't notice he had followed him. That would be unfortunate. The wind was getting colder and John went on his way.

Why was everything always so hard? Why wasn't his life easy? Or normal like most people's? John saw the sun slowly going down. The walk to Baker Street would take about an hour. He shrugged and went on. If he was honest, he didn't want a normal life. He preferred this, the adrenaline rushes, the danger.

It was dark when he arrived. The lights were on and he thought he heard Sherlock's violin. He grew angry again. How could he betray him like this? He took a deep breath and opened the door. The sound was clearer now and John went up the stairs and slowly opened the door to their flat.

"Don't worry, I didn't feel like experimenting," was Sherlock's first comment. John shrugged off his coat and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge.

"Where's the milk?" he asked and closed it. The music stopped.

"I forgot it," he heard his friend say. John sighed and looked at Sherlock.

"You forgot your wallet, too."

The taller man put the violin away and sat down.

"Where were you?" John demanded and raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock glanced at him and put his feet up.

"I told you, I went out to buy something," he answered with a cool touch to his voice.

"And what did you buy?"

The detective looked at him angrily.

"Why should I tell you? It's none of your business," he said with more force.

John clenched his fists and glared at him. He had enough, why couldn't Sherlock just say it?

"It is kind of my business when you lie to me. So, Sherlock, what did you buy?"

"I don't want to discuss this with you," he snarled and stood up. John took him by the arm before he could go.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, just tell me!"

Sherlock flinched and pulled away. "Fuck off, John," he said and went to his room, shutting the door behind him.

John was stunned and sat down. Sherlock had never talked to him like that before; of course he called him an idiot, but…

Maybe he should've handled that differently. Now his friend really wouldn't say a word. Great job, John. You royally fucked it up.

He ran a hand through his hair and wondered about Sherlock's reaction. Would he pretend nothing had happened? Or would he completely shut him out?

Maybe he should tell Lestrade. Of course he would be angry at John for letting Sherlock relapse, but he could help. The DI had helped Sherlock in this kind of situation before.

John felt a knot in his stomach. This was horrible and partly his fault. He could've averted this. He should have.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

"Come on, talk to me, I said I was sorry," John leaned against the door behind him. He'd been trying to get Sherlock to talk to him again for three hours straight with no results. There had been no response other than a short _fuck off_.

"Sherlock, please, look, I know it was none of my business. What you do with your time is your cup of tea. It only becomes my concern when it hurts you or is bad for you, alright? I'm your friend and also your doctor." He listened for a response from Sherlock…nothing. Great. What a horrible day, he hoped Molly had more luck with her date.

If John was honest with himself, this wasn't really his fault. He was just concerned and confused. What he had seen in that warehouse bothered him and he wanted to know what Sherlock had bought. From the sound of it probably drugs, John thought, grimacing at the thought. This was a disaster! What if Sherlock knew he had followed him? Then he was screwed, oh God, he was so screwed.

"You are right in one point," John heard the detective say quietly, "it is absolutely _none_ of your business what I do. I can do what I want." "Even if what you do is buying drugs? I think then I have the right to be concerned." There was no reply from him for a while and John cursed himself for saying that. He was great at making a bad situation even worse.

"So you think I bought drugs? That would be a pretty good deduction from just seeing me when I came back home," John closed his eyes, yup, he was screwed. "Which makes me wonder," Sherlock continued, "and question if you stayed here while I was away. Because I think you followed me, didn't you, John?" The doctor bit his lip, should he answer? It hadn't sounded like a question. "This leads us to a conclusion. You don't trust me," he continued and John perked up, frowning. "I do trust you, Sherlock."

"Oh really? Because you trust me oh so much you decided to follow me without my consent and thought you could shrug this incident off without me noticing you spied on me. Conclusion? You don't trust me."

The offended man stood up and rested his forehead against the door. "In my defence, you drugged me once! So I'm sorry if I sometimes am suspicious of your activities. Furthermore, I was right! You said you'd buy milk, so where's the milk, hm? You even left your wallet here!"

"My coat has pockets! I can store my money there."

"Sherlock," John sighed and shook his head, "I don't want to argue with you. I just want to know, did you buy drugs?"

Silence. He waited for roughly a minute before he heard some shuffling and footsteps. "I did not purchase cocaine." John huffed a laugh, "doesn't really answer my question."

He heard a scoff, "yes it does. I did not buy drugs, not he kind you are thinking of, well, technically it's not a drug at all." "Is it illegal?" "…yes." Great, just great.

"What is it? I won't be angry," John tried to reason, confused what he had purchased from the man. "I can't tell you." "Of course you can, come on, Sherlock." He knocked at the door again, "I said I won't be angry with you, you can tell me, I'm your friend." He heard nothing for a few moments. "Go away."

"At least tell my why it's illegal," he needed to know, come on Sherlock. "It has some side effects, but I've never experienced any, so don't worry. Can you leave me alone now?"

"No I can't, not before you tell me," John answered and heaved a sigh, why was everything always so difficult with Sherlock? Couldn't he just let him know what it was?

"I really can't tell you," Sherlock said silently, making John frown. What could be so bad? Now he was genuinely worried. "Sherlock?" he asked gently. The lock was suddenly opened and John stepped back as the door swung open. The consulting detective held a syringe, the transparent liquid still inside. Puzzled John looked at him, taking in his almost worried expression. Sherlock, worried? Not good.

"I ran out of them so I had to buy new ones," Sherlock informed him, not looking at the blogger, his appearance unreadable again. "I couldn't tell you, this could have-, this might ruin our friendship which I hold in high regards. Don't judge me, I never wanted to take this stuff, but the situation I was in gave me no other choice."

The smaller man stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing what to say. Ruin their friendship? What was going on?

Sherlock now appeared nervous, running a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at John. He seemed to be almost ill, the blond noticed. "John, promise me things will stay the same." "I can't promise you that without knowing what the hell is going on! What are you talking about, ruining our friendship?" he replied incredulous.

"Do you remember our conversation this morning? Sherlock asked him, "we were talking about the Light and you couldn't believe I had never experienced it." "Yes?" John answered confused, still not getting his point. What was he talking about?

"I lied." he mumbled and finally met his eye, "I took this stuff because it prevents the Light from showing."

And now John could see it, the faint glow coming from Sherlock's chest and he gaped at him, disbelief showing on his face. No, no, oh God, it couldn't be. "You- you have feelings, you have feelings for-," _me_, he finished the sentenced in his thoughts, not being able to say it out loud. But this couldn't possibly be, Sherlock didn't feel that way, mister 'married to his work'. Sherlock laughed at couples, said love was for idiots, scoffed at any mentioning of this 'chemical defect'. No, John thought, he must be tricking him, except he didn't look like he wanted to make a fool out of him. He gave the impression of wanting to take back every word he had said.

"I-I need to get some air," John uttered and fled from Sherlock, grabbing his jacket and leaving his friend alone in the flat.


	4. Chapter 4

This was not possible. It just wasn't.

John quickly ran down the stairs, getting out of the building. He took deep breaths, the cold wind against his skin welcomed. No, this simply couldn't be. Shaking his head he stared at the pavement. Sherlock wasn't like that. Sherlock didn't _feel_ things like that. His flatmate always told him how love was a disadvantage. That people let themselves be fooled by just a chemical reaction. But he had told him. He hadn't sounded like he was lying to him. This was not one of Sherlock's, maybe unintended, cruel jokes. This was real. Those were his friend's feelings.

The doctor needed to wrap his head around the simple idea of him experiencing such human emotions. But then again, Sherlock was human, just like everyone else. Even though he wanted to be better, appear better, he was human, including emotions. John had never thought he was a psychopath. How could he? Those smiles he sometimes gave him were genuine and even if Sherlock would never admit it himself, John believed that vile things people said about him did hurt him. Of course he would set up a defence mechanism and pretend they didn't upset him.

But why him? Why had his flatmate developed such feelings for him? John sighed; he had just left him there. If he had admitted such a thing he wouldn't have wanted for the other person to leave him. He ought to talk to him about…whatever this was. Nevertheless, he was angry. Part of him was angry at Sherlock, because he had taken those blockers. They were unhealthy, but then again maybe he could understand him a little. He had seemed to be really upset for feeling this way, like it was wrong.

John kicked a stone away. This was going to be awkward. After all this thinking about why and how, he hadn't even thought about how he himself felt about this confession. The first thing that sprang to his mind was that he was _not gay_. He wasn't, that's it, but… If he had to label himself he hesitated with saying he was straight. It didn't fit. What did he feel about Sherlock?

The consulting detective was his friend, his mad flatmate. He sometimes annoyed him to no end with his experiments and violin playing in the early hours of the day. Of course he had also thought about murdering him when he ruined his dates because of a case or strange emergency. John frowned and looked at the door. Had he ruined them because he had been jealous? He bit back a laugh. Sherlock Holmes wasn't jealous, how ridiculous. But then again…did he know him all that well? If he did he would have noticed him being….

This was more difficult than he had at first anticipated. Did he like him? Not in a friendly way but in a more intimate way. Even at the idea of them being together made John cough, feeling uncomfortable. He blushed at the thought of the two of them having sex and shook his head. Did Sherlock even want to have sex? "Oh God," John muttered and cleared his throat. He couldn't imagine it. Even if his friend liked him in that way, John didn't. If he did, his Light would appear and there was none. There never had been one with Sherlock.

He would have to carefully tell him he didn't feel that way and hope for the best. John felt his chest constrict a little but didn't know why. He really hoped Sherlock would take it well, because he had no idea what he would do if he didn't. Either way it would be awkward. Should he politely tell him he didn't have those kinds of feelings for him? It was probably for the best, John nodded.

With heavy steps he entered 221 and spotted Mrs Hudson watching him, a concerned look on her face. "Is everything alright?" She softly asked him, her brow furrowing. "I heard shouting…"

John sighed. "It's fine, we just…had a bit of a disagreement," he decided to tell her and walked up the stairs. "No need to worry." Well, he hoped.

She nodded thoughtfully. "If you say so."

He looked at her puzzled before continuing his way up. The flat was eerily silent and John didn't like it one bit. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen in the main room. He's probably in his room, the blogger thought. The only out of the ordinary thing was the syringe which was placed in John's armchair, not used. It made him smile a tad. He placed his jacket on the back of the chair and carefully took the needle, observing the colourless liquid. How long had his friend been taking this stuff?

It was still too silent, no sound except for John's footsteps as he went to his room, placing the dangerous item into a small box he kept under his bed. Sherlock may have no sense of privacy but he never dared to leave his room in a mess and had never opened his secret box. John didn't bother questioning it.

Unexpectedly the blond heard a door opening and glass clinking together. Should he go downstairs? Why shouldn't he? He lived in this flat, but the thought of meeting Sherlock made him uncomfortable. Fuck, he was uncomfortable talking to his friend. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't remain awkward.

The noise was coming from the kitchen, John noted when he found himself in the living room again. He was unsure if Sherlock had noticed his presence, but the detective seemed busy putting glasses away where they belonged. Had he done the dishes? John didn't like this at all. Sherlock never did any house work if John didn't ask him for a good thirty minutes to do so. It was counterproductive, John would have done the work by then, but he always wanted Sherlock to do something except sulk.

He had been so lost in thought that he only now realised Sherlock was staring at him, his posture tense. As he looked back at him the taller man glanced away. Awkward. Discomforted John decided to walk over to him.

"What are you doing?" He asked him cautiously. The detective shrugged and clumsily put another glass away.

"Just doing the dishes."

"You never do that."

"I felt like it," Sherlock replied, still not looking at him.

"Is everything alright?" John chose to try to start the conversation they needed to have and put a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock jerked away from his touch. "I'm _fine_," he insisted and glared at him. "You don't need to worry."

"Well, excuse me for being concerned," John told him, his anger bubbling up again. "I just don't want you to do something stupid." Sherlock huffed and crossed the room, not bothering to reply.

"I am talking to you!" The doctor said to him, not knowing why he got so aggravated. "You can't pretend nothing happened."

Sherlock stopped, his back facing John. "I'm not pretending nothing happened. I told you, you rejected me. Case closed, we can move on."

"This isn't a fucking case, Sherlock. Those were…are your feelings," John's voice softened at the last part. He didn't want his friend to shut him out again.

"What do you expect me to do? What do you want me to say? I told you, I don't even know why. I stupidly told you and you left, you rejected me. That's okay, John. I understand."

John wasn't sure if he did. "I don't want our relationship to be awkward from now on."

"We have no relationship," Sherlock replied, turning around. "But we are friends," John said.

Sherlock glanced at him. "If you don't want this to be awkward then stop making it. I can move on. No hard feelings. I made you an offer and you turned it down. It's fine."

He started walking away again but John followed. "It's not _fine_. I know how it is to be rejected-"

"Then you also might know that I don't want to talk about it," Sherlock clenched his fists.

"But you should talk with someone." John tried to reason with him.

"And what makes you think I would talk to you? Because I have no other friends?" The detective said with distain.

"What- no, that's not what I meant!" He told him but Sherlock took the handle of the door to his room.

"Of course you didn't," he muttered and opened the door. "John, you don't need to talk to me about it. I understand, alright?" Sherlock turned to look at him. John knew he was shutting him out again, but could he blame him?

"Let's just forget this ever happened, it's better for both of us." John slowly nodded, not knowing what else to do. The door closed behind Sherlock and the doctor sighed. Maybe Sherlock was right. He should forget about it.

* * *

Apparently Sherlock was really keen on forgetting The Incident – as John liked to call it – because over the span of the next few weeks he didn't mention it once. The next day he had pretended it had never happened and began calling John an idiot again and being his natural self. John even wondered if it had ever occurred.

There was no sign of the Light either and John looked at the box every day, the syringe was still there. Had it been just a phase? The blogger didn't know. He also tried to forget it but sometimes he felt like he slipped.

Personal space had never been an issue for Sherlock. He constantly looked over his shoulder, his chest pressing against John's back as he read his latest blog entry.

The first time it had happened after that fateful day John had maybe jerked away a little. He still didn't know why he had done it. Sherlock had continued reading. Had John only imagined his flatmate looking at him confused?

John liked to act as if nothing had changed, but that was untrue. Sherlock stopped invading his personal space and liked to keep a comfortable distance. It was weird, unnatural for him, but John shrugged it off. It was almost certainly nothing.

But now their conversations sometimes seemed strained, as if neither of the two knew what they were allowed to say and what not. John caught himself not saying brilliant or amazing as often as he had before when Sherlock solved a case. Again, he didn't know why. It felt…inappropriate. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, John told himself. Everything was fine. It was fine.

Except it wasn't.

John was on a date with his girlfriend. They had been together for…three weeks, he nodded. Three weeks. It was their third date and Sherlock had never interrupted them so far. He had even brought her to their flat and his friend had simply retreated to his room and gave them space. John had been thankful, but a weird feeling had settled into his stomach ever since.

Samantha was laughing at a comment he had made and he smiled. He liked her. She was easy to talk to and yes, she was also nice to look at. Before John had left for his date he knew Sherlock had gotten a text from Lestrade, so he would most likely try to crash his date with Samantha. Throughout the dinner John expected to get a phone call or a text any minute. Or Sherlock would appear at the table. John was on edge a little but tried to enjoy his time with his girlfriend.

The meal had been consumed and there had been no call from the detective so far. It didn't make any sense. Sherlock _always_ contacted him when there was a case.

"Is everything okay, John?" Samantha asked as she caught him checking his phone again.

"Hm?" He put it away again. Nothing. "Yes, nothing's wrong."

"You sure? You keep checking your phone."

"Don't worry," he smiled at her although it didn't quite reach his eyes. Something was wrong. Why wasn't he coming? John got a bit distressed. He knew he should be enjoying this date, but Sherlock's behaviour worried him.

"What is it? Come on, spit it out." She took his hand. All of a sudden he didn't like the contact.

"It's nothing. Just…my mate usually interrupts my dates and so far he hasn't," John told her. She raised a brow.

"Why would he do that?"

"Something always comes up. A case or he needs my help with something…"

"You should be glad he isn't ruining this," she smiled sweetly. "So you can enjoy this."

John nodded, "I am glad."

They continued talking for a while, but John couldn't help himself and checked his phone. He heard Samantha sigh.

"Why do you keep looking at it? He isn't coming, why aren't you happy with that?"

"I _am_ happy," he looked up. "It's just really weird, he _always_ calls me and I know he has a case, so why isn't he now?"

"Are you really waiting for him to ruin this?" She sounded annoyed now and John shook his head.

"No, look, it's not like that. I'm just concerned."

"Concerned because he isn't being a dick?" Samantha replied.

"He's not a dick," John frowned, feeling the urge to defend him.

"Trust me, from the amount of time you've talked about him, I know he is. You just go on and on about him," she sighed. "I don't think this is working."

"Samantha, no, please," he knew what was coming.

"I think you are a nice guy, John. You really are, but your friend is always distracting you and you let him. He's controlling you, or maybe you are just that dependant on him." She stood up. "The problem, John, is that you are putting all of your attention on him and not on other things. We've been together for a month now." Was it a month? He thought it had been three weeks, hm. "And I know more about your flatmate than I know about you."

"That's not…" John sighed.

"I really like you, just so you know." She kissed his cheek and left the restaurant.

John looked after Samantha but made no attempt to stop her. Great, just fucking great. He put his head in his hands and sighed. There went another one. He had thought everything had been great so far. Did he truly talk that much about Sherlock? Speaking of, why hadn't he called him? He gritted his teeth. He had a case and he didn't tell him. Maybe he was a dick after all.

Angrily he stood up and texted Lestrade where the crime scene was. Not a minute later he received the answer. Greg was also surprised he wasn't there with Sherlock and John hailed a cab.

When he arrived Sherlock was talking to the Detective Inspector, it seemed they were in a heated discussion. John paid the cabbie and got out, striding over to them. Sherlock looked at him, a little surprised and John glared at him.

"Why didn't you call me? Texted me? You have a case and you didn't even tell me!" He got straight to the point. The detective looked taken aback but caught himself and Greg was surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You were on a-"

"I know I was on a date! But it didn't work out, thanks again for that."

"What do I have to do with that?" Sherlock asked genuinely confused. "John, I didn't tell you because you were occupied with something else." He said calmly.

"It never stopped you before! You usually ruin every single attempt I make to have a steady someone," John replied snippily. Sherlock looked at him perplexed.

"Yes, except I knew you wanted this to work and decided to not bother you, but clearly my attempts of being a good friend failed." The taller man said, "Although I haven't got a clue to what I did wrong this time."

John hesitated with his answer. What had he done wrong? Nothing, Sherlock had done the right thing. He had given John time with his now ex-girlfriend. He hadn't ruined his date, that had been John himself.

"Why does it bother you so much that I didn't call you?" Sherlock asked with a puzzled expression.

The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't. He didn't know himself what troubled him. He could have had a perfect date with Samantha.

"Because we always work together on a case. We are a team," John told him.

"Then what do you expect of me? Should I just not take any cases while you are in a relationship?" Sherlock shook his head. "I can't do that."

John didn't know what he wanted Sherlock to do. They had always solved them together. No matter how trivial they had been.

"Why didn't you ruin my date like you used to?" He finally asked the question that had been on his mind the whole time. "Why have you been so considerate?"

The detective shrugged, looking away briefly. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"I know that's not the reason. Come on, tell me." John pushed him.

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade and shook his head. "Can we…talk later? I need to solve the case, do you want to do it with me?"

It had sounded like a sincere offer but John didn't want to right now. He needed to calm down.

"No, it's fine. I'll go home, do it without me," he answered. "See you later." John mumbled and retreated, noticing Greg's confused expression as he looked after him. He was fed up, but not with Sherlock. He himself was the problem. Sherlock wasn't the jerk here, it was John.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was speechless.

It was not common for him to experience such disbelief and confusion. Had he not done everything right? When John walked away he felt that pressure in his chest again. He was angry at Sherlock, but why? The detective did not understand. After what had…happened he had given his flatmate space. He had been careful about what he said, what he did. He even went shopping! It had been quite the sacrifice and still John was angry.

The look Lestrade was giving him made Sherlock uncomfortable, but he quickly pulled himself together.

"Did you solve the case while I was talking to John? No? Then do your damn job and think about who killed the man!" He snapped at him, satisfied when the DI huffed and mumbled something under his breath. Far better than that questioning look.

The rest of the night passed rather quickly, maybe a bit too quickly for Sherlock's liking and so he found himself four hours later in front of the door to his and John's flat. There was no sound coming from the other side of the door so he assumed John was upstairs in his room, most likely asleep. Good. He didn't want to talk to him at the moment. He wouldn't know what to say.

He slipped out of his coat and pulled off his scarf, walked to the sofa and sat down. Two months. It had been two months and things were still awkward. Sherlock had been such a fool, letting himself give in to his emotions and telling John. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he done that? Because he had had a tiny bit of hope that John would not reject him? Incredible. It was quite incredible how naïve he had been.

There had never been any hope. John would never like him that way. It was not because his friend was straight. John was not heterosexual and not gay, as he loved to keep telling him. Sherlock was sure that he was bisexual, but not very confident in regards to his attraction to men. Maybe that was the moment Sherlock had begun to hope. Now it was clear to him. John was not attracted to him. John did not want to be anything more than friends. John was not comfortable with Sherlock liking him more than he should.

Sometimes he wished he would've never met John. That way he wouldn't have such problems, he wouldn't want to hide forever in his room and rip all his hair out. Without John he would be dead by now. He would merely be a corpse six feet under the ground. People would have forgotten about him. Cocaine overdose, that was the way he would've done it. Easy and simple. Lestrade would have seen it coming. If he were dead, there would be no problems now.

Sherlock closed his eyes, wishing he could just delete the moment when he had ruined everything. He wanted to delete it, there would be no sweeter satisfaction than forgetting his moment of weakness, but he couldn't. He couldn't do it. If he did, he would not remember that short moment of relief. Relief that he didn't have to keep it to himself any longer. Relief that now it wasn't up to him. John could decide what to do. And John had made his decision.

"Why?"

His eyes snapped open when he heard John utter that word, having gone down the stairs without Sherlock noticing. He looked up at him, confused for a short moment.

"What do you-"

"Why me?" was John's short reply. Why him indeed.

Sherlock averted his gaze, having asked himself that question many times. Why John? Why could this man break down all of the walls he had built through the years? How had he managed to catch Sherlock's attention?

"Well?"

John appeared to be…tired. Worn out. Had he slept? Could-

"Don't deduce me, Sherlock. Please, just answer."

"I don't know. I don't know why it's you."

"Bullshit."

John shook his head.

"Can't you be honest with me? I'm tired of your games. I really am."

"A game? Why would this be a game to me?" Sherlock asked offended. "I don't know why it's you."

John sighed, looking a few years older than he actually was.

"This is typical. You can never give me a real answer to anything."

Sherlock hesitated. He looked at the ground, not knowing how to express himself.

"It's bothering you, isn't it?" he asked John. "That I like you. I've noticed that ever since I…told you about how I feel you avoid any contact with me. When we're on a case you don't get as excited as you used to. You are uncomfortable around me. I understand. John, if you want to move out or if you-"

"Stop," John suddenly said. "Just…give me a second." He walked to his chair and sat down.

"Isn't it true?" Sherlock asked confused.

"Yes, no. I don't know. I can tell you one thing for sure. I don't want to move out. You're my friend." John sounded frustrated, he was telling the truth.

Sherlock couldn't help it, but the word friend hurt. He had let himself get too close.

"And I owe you an apology," John continued.

"For what?"

"For how I behaved at the crime scene. It wasn't your fault that my date was a disaster. It was mine. I thought about it while you were working on the case. I was irritated back then, because you didn't call me. I'm afraid that I'm…that I'm losing you," John admitted and Sherlock was speechless once again.

"I'm afraid that because of what happened that we'll grow apart. I don't want that. I can't stand even thinking about that happening."

It had been a long time since John had been so open with him. It was refreshing, it truly was, but Sherlock knew that there was something else that was bothering John.

"I also don't want that," he replied quietly. "I have to ask you, John or I'll never get any rest. You never gave me a true answer. I want one. I want you to tell me that you don't like me in that way, that you don't want to be anything else than friends. You owe me that."

John didn't say anything and Sherlock felt himself grow irritated, frustrated even.

"Tell me! It can't be that hard. Either you like me or not," he snapped at him.

"It's not!" John retorted. Could it be any more confusing? Sherlock didn't know how it could be difficult to tell him that he didn't like him that way.

"Why? John, why can't you just tell me? You can't hurt my feelings." It already happened.

"Where's the Light? Why did it just stop?" John asked him unexpectedly. "You gave me the syringe, it was full. Did your feelings change?"

Sherlock knew that his answer wouldn't be one that John liked to hear. It was too late anyway.

"Did you honestly think I only had one?"

Silence. He saw John swallowing and tense up. You did it again, Sherlock. Congratulations, you screwed up.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" John glared at him. "It's dangerous! I'm a doctor. I've seen what that can do to people!"

"Well what was I supposed to do?!" Sherlock yelled. "Imagine how that makes me feel! Imagine my Light showing whenever I'm around you and yours not! How would that work at a crime scene? All the Yarders would see and it would proof them right once again. That I'm a freak," he spat, his pent up anger getting the better of him.

John's expression softened. "You're not a freak. You- you aren't," he told him. "If I'm honest I didn't even think about that," he said quietly.

This was a mess. He had said more than he had intended to. Sherlock looked at John again.

"I won't stop taking it. I can't work without it," he said sternly.

"Yes you can," John replied. "You could work without me."

"You can't be serious." Sherlock wondered if John even wanted to work with him again.

"What's wrong with you? You just went on about worrying that we'll grow apart and then you suggest that we no longer work together?" he asked incredulously.

Again John didn't answer.

"And people say I'm the difficult one. You still haven't given me an answer," Sherlock stated.

"I guess I haven't." John stood up. "And I can't. I don't know how I feel about you. We're friends, Sherlock. I care about you a lot. Maybe I can give you an answer tomorrow. I'm tired." He walked towards the stairs.

"You do know that this is torture for me?" Sherlock said quietly, but he knew John could hear him.

"Never knowing if you like me or not, always wondering if there is a chance. I don't know how much longer I can bear it."

He waited for a reply, for _something_, but John only kept on walking and Sherlock hugged himself. He was losing his friend. He was losing his only friend.

_Caring is not and advantage_

How right his brother was. Caring had only made him vulnerable, it had made him weak. How he despised it.

The dose would only last for another month or so. No matter what John said, he would continue taking it. He had no choice. Otherwise it would hurt too much. It already did.

Sherlock was reminded of his teenage days. He had always been an outsider, too strange for other people. They had laughed at him when his Light had briefly appeared after he had gotten that stupid crush on-

He shouldn't think about that. That was in his past, it would never happen again. But it did, didn't it? Pathetic. He truly was pathetic.

John giving him an answer tomorrow was highly unlikely. He should've seen it coming. He had been selfish when he had admitted his feelings for him and now everything was a mess. John was the only person who understood him and because of his own stupidity he had ruined their friendship in hope of…what? A romantic relationship? Ridiculous.

Sherlock didn't know how long he sat there, thinking about all that had gone wrong, but John stayed upstairs. Sometime through the night he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up on the sofa, a blanket protecting him from the cold. He frowned. He had definitely not fetched a blanket.

Upon closer inspection of his surroundings he saw a little note on the table next to the newspaper and read it.

_I'm at work. Sorry for yesterday, I was exhausted and confused. So yeah, sorry. I told you I'd think it over and I did. How about we talk again after I've finished? Don't forget to eat, I'll notice if you don't._

Sherlock smiled as he read it. Maybe they would find a solution. It sounded like John had made a decision. Even if it wouldn't be the best for Sherlock, at least he would no longer worry about what could have been.

His stomach rumbled and he rolled his eyes. If it made John happy he'd eat, but just this once. He couldn't have him thinking that he actually listened to him.

Sherlock walked to the kitchen. It would all be fine. He wanted to stay John's friend, no matter what. Even if John eventually found a person he wanted to be with it would be okay. He only wanted to see him happy.

That would be enough, Sherlock told himself. Because that's what friends do, ensure that one is happy, even if it hurts the other.


End file.
